Glee Postsecret Challenge
by your.kat
Summary: Why? Because everyone has a secret.
1. Damn

**Characters: **Rachel and Quinn

**Damn**

Her cell phone pressed against her hip in her pocket. It had been burning a hole against her flesh all day, every day. Every time it rang, she eagerly ripped it out of its confines and looked at the screen.

But she had been disappointed every single time.

"Rachel, what have I told you about personal calls during office hours?" Will was Rachel's boss. He was a tight ass.

He could never understand.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm just expecting an important phone call, and it could be at anytime." Rachel tried not to sound too hopeful. Or too desperate.

"Uh huh, yeah. Well next time schedule it _after_ hours."

He walked off, and Rachel was left alone again in her cubicle. She placed her hand on her chin as she looked down at her cell phone which was now residing on the smooth surface of her uncluttered desk. Forms that needed her attention sat in the tray to her left. She eyed them in her peripheral vision for a few moments.

Whatever.

As time ticked away her work day and her phone remained resolutely still and silent in front of her, Rachel's mind drifted back to the previous weekend…

* * *

><p><em>The bar had been dimly lit and smoky – in other words, your average bar.<em>

_The jukebox in the corner began to play a song Rachel knew, and she hummed along under her breath as she stared down at her martini glass._

_Just another Friday night._

"_Hello gorgeous," a voice suddenly purred in Rachel's ear. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up and a shiver coursed down her spine. "Are you here alone?"_

_Rachel turned her head to the right as the most attractive blonde woman she had ever seen straddled the bar stool next to her, purposefully allowing one of her jean-clad knees to press forward against the exposed skin of Rachel's thigh._

_Composing herself quickly, Rachel replied, "Yeah, I'm here alone." She grinned shyly at the woman with short, wavy hair and a killer grin. "Nothing unusual about that, unfortunately."_

_The blonde's hazel eyes sparkled. "I find that utterly absurd." Rachel's eyes, which had shifted back towards her drink, were soon locked with the eyes of this beautiful stranger who had decided to talk to her. "What's your name, gorgeous?"_

"_It's Rachel," she replied, not able to suppress the slight chuckle that escaped her throat at the strange circumstance she found herself in. Rachel didn't get hit on. She just didn't. With her black-framed glasses, her tight ponytail, her meticulously pressed dress shirt and skirt, and her Mary Janes… Someone had once called her 'jail bait'. She was twenty-five-years old, for crying out loud._

"_Well, Rachel, normally I would buy you a drink, ask you for a dance, stare longingly into your eyes and tell you that you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and that you must've fallen straight from Heaven."  
><em>

"_Normally?" Rachel questioned, unable to stop the blush from spreading across her cheeks._

"_Yes, normally. But I'm dying to take you home, Rachel. Because you really are the most stunning example of feminine beauty I have ever seen in my life."_

_Rachel swallowed thickly. She had never been someone's one-night stand. Let alone a woman's one-night stand. Part of Rachel was saying, 'Run away. Get the hell out of here. This is completely ridiculous.'_

_But another part of Rachel was saying, 'Fuck it all. She's the most incredibly beautiful woman you've ever seen. Live a little, Rach. Just live.'_

_Rachel turned and locked her eyes with the blonde's. She nodded her head._

"_Yeah?" the blonde questioned. Rachel nodded again. "You just made my life, Rachel." She stood up and extended her hand to Rachel. Rachel took it, and the blonde guided them out of the bar and into the cool night air of the city. "My name's Quinn, by the way."_

"_Nice to meet you, Quinn."_

_The next morning, Rachel woke up first. Quinn's apartment was lovely and simple, and Rachel felt something blossom in her heart as she looked down at the blonde hair fanned out on the pillow and the torturously soft flesh of Quinn's exposed breasts peeking out from the edge of the sheet._

_Carefully, quietly getting dressed, Rachel found a piece of paper and a pen._

_555-1432  
>Rachel<em>

_Rachel taped the note to the mirror in Quinn's bathroom before stealthily leaving. She considered waiting around for the other girl to wake up. She considered searching for a donut shop and bringing back hot coffee and breakfast. She considered closing the door instead, walking back into Quinn's bedroom, and continuing right where they had left off before falling asleep the night before._

_But she didn't._

* * *

><p>Rachel blew a puff of air out of her lips, and her bangs fluttered against her forehead. She pressed a button on her phone.<p>

No missed calls.  
>No voicemails.<br>No texts.

Reaching across her desk, Rachel picked up the first document in her queue and set to work, valiantly trying to push her cell phone – and the lovely blonde woman who had changed her life in a single night – out of her mind.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Postsecret<span>: "**_**You're not going to call me, are you? Damn."**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **__This "story" deserves an explanation, so here it is! __**PLEASE READ SO YOU KNOW WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE!**_

_For about 4 years now, I have been visiting the 'art project' by Frank Warren entitled "Postsecret" at __**postsecret (dot) com**__ almost every single Sunday. For a little over 2 years now, I've been saving the Postsecret images in a folder (I use them as a rotating desktop). _

_The secrets range anywhere from GLBT-related, confessions of suicidal thoughts or attempts, awkward or embarrassing habits, stories of love lost or found, and sometimes just things that can put a smile on your face because – HEY! – __**you do that to**__. :-) It's an amazing project that has spawned several books – full of nothing but postcards with secrets on them that have been anonymously submitted to Frank's mailbox._

_I have about 1500 Postsecret images saved on my computer, but I've gone through and selected about 100 of them that I want to share (with my own Glee twist on them, obviously). I want to make it clear that __**I mean no disrespect to the people who were brave enough to submit these secrets by using them in this context.**__ I think there are few things more powerful than opening a Postsecret book or navigating to the page on Sunday morning and seeing that someone else in the world wrote down __**your**__ secret – especially when it's a secret that you had never even admitted to yourself before._

_There won't be any specific 'pairings' for this story, though I'm sure Faberry will crop up more often than all of the other characters combined._

**_Each 'chapter' will be standalone and inspired by _**_**one Postsecret**__, and the lengths are going to vary, but I'm sure that most won't be any longer than this one and will probably be much shorter at that._

_Because I feel that the Postsecrets are too beautiful for you to __**not**__ see them (and sometimes just seeing the **words** of the Postsecret just isn't enough), each time I post a chapter, __**I will also post the chapter with the Postsecret image on my LiveJournal account**__. You can find that at: **your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com**_

_I promise that I will never __**ever**__ write an author's note this long again!_

_Anyway, this is my __**Glee Postsecret Challenge**__, and I hope you enjoy it._


	2. 11:11

**Characters: **Quinn and Rachel

**11:11**

The air was chilly in Quinn's room. She had left the window open, and the October breeze was causing her curtains to flutter and toss shadows against the opposite wall. The sheet clung to her legs, and she felt trapped.

But she felt trapped by more than just the sheets.

Quinn could see the bright red and white of her Cheerio uniform that she had hung on her closet door, clean and pressed and ready to be worn tomorrow as she walked down the halls of McKinley High. The tight polyester would make it difficult to breathe or bend over, but she knew she looked hot in it. And that's really what mattered anyway.

Right?

It didn't matter if she was happy or if she _really_ wanted to be in a relationship with Sam or if her father had moved back in last week or if she was _constantly_ having to fight Santana off to remain Captain of the squad. It didn't matter. Because Quinn Fabray was living the god damned _life_. She was popular and gorgeous and every other girl should be jealous of her. Maybe she would get out of Lima after the next school year was over, and maybe she wouldn't – but did it matter, if she was living the good life now? This was high school; these were supposed to be some of the greatest years of her life.

But were they really?

_God_, she hoped not.

Quinn tossed and turned and ended up facing her bedside table. The clock blinked brightly in her eyes. **11:11PM**, it said. _Make a wish_, it said. _Hurry, make a wish_.

Quinn Fabray was not superstitious. She would walk under a ladder if it was in her way. She wouldn't freak out if a black cat ran in front of her car. She had never sought out four-leaf clovers. Luck was just what happened when preparation met opportunity, or so Coach Sylvester would bark at them sometimes.

No, Quinn wasn't superstitious. But when she saw the clock – **11:11**, _make a wish_ – she found herself squeezing her eyes tightly shut and clenching her fists and making a frigging wish.

And if she had given herself the chance to just slow down and _think_ about what the hell she was wishing for, she probably would have never made _that_ wish. But it was done. She opened her eyes and stared again at the clock. She watched as it ticked over to **11:12**, and suddenly the magic of the moment seemed to dissipate into the night air around her. Crickets chirped outside her window, and Quinn wiped away a tear that was trailing across her face.

She rolled onto her back, punching the pillow underneath her head until it was fluffier. "Stupid," she mumbled under her breath.

When Quinn's cell phone beeped from just next to her clock, she grumpily reached over and grabbed it. Who would text at this time of night, anyway? There was school tomorrow, and Quinn needed her beauty sleep.

Her bitchy inner-monologue faded into nothingness as she clicked on the **1 NEW MESSAGE** that was waiting in her inbox. And when the message filled her screen, Quinn's heart stopped – in that beautiful, breath-taking, mind-numbing, life-changing way.

**From: **Rachel Berry  
><em>Just wanted to say Hi.<em>  
><strong>Oct 8, 11:12PM<strong>

The smile on her lips threatened to split her face in two, but Quinn couldn't care less. She hastily typed out a reply before cradling the phone against her chest.

Once more engulfed in the twilight-darkness of her room, Quinn decided that maybe superstitions weren't so ridiculous after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret<strong>**: **_**"I wished for you at 11:11, then received this [text]. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. I love you more than you'll ever know."**_

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><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	3. Psychotherapy

**Characters:** Quinn and Rachel with appearances by Brittany and Tina

**Psychotherapy**

"And how does that make you feel?" Quinn asked the question but then immediately zoned out.

_Did I turn the iron off this morning?_

_Shit! Did I unplug the toaster?_

_I wonder if I have time to stop by the grocery store before Jeopardy comes on…_

"D-doctor?" the patient laying on the couch questioned hesitantly.

Quinn's head snapped up from where she had been resting her cheek against her knuckles lazily. "Yes, Tina, but what do you _really_ think about that?"

Then the girl was off again. Quinn rolled her eyes because, well, this was ridiculous.

And people _paid her_ for these services? Her Porsche and rooftop penthouse said **YES.**

She doodled a cat on the notepad in her lap, occasionally uttering the necessary "uh huh" or "right" or "I see" when there was a lull in Tina's spiel.

Quinn glanced up at the clock. "Well," she interrupted the stuttering girl. "That's all the time we have for today. Same time next week?"

"S-sure," Tina replied as she rolled off of the couch, straightening her shirt and shaking Quinn's hand as she passed her.

With the woman gone, Quinn walked over to her desk and hit the call button for her secretary. "Brittany, please send in my four o'clock."

"The whole clock or…?" Brittany trailed off uncertainly. Quinn could practically picture her walking across the room, removing the clock from its place on the wall, and bringing it to Quinn at her desk.

She sighed and pressed the button again. "Just send in the next person."

Grabbing a clean, blank file for her new patient, Quinn began filling out the details for the meeting they were about to have.

The door creaked open. "Come on in," Quinn said, not looking up yet. "Have a seat." She gestured towards one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. Finally having filled out the necessary lines, Quinn dropped her pen and looked up with a fake smile plastered across her face.

And she was momentarily knocked speechless by the beautiful brunette in front of her.

"Hi," the brunette said as she extended her hand. "I'm Rachel Berry."

Quinn stood and leaned over the desk to accept the petite woman's hand in her own, a real smile easily replacing the fake one. "Quinn Fabray," she replied. "Nice to meet you, Rachel."

As they began introductions, Quinn got the distinct impression that she would actually _listen_ to this one…

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret<strong>**: **_**"I often feel like psychotherapy is bullshit. (And I'm your therapist)."**_

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><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	4. FrankNFurter

**Characters: **Sam and Mercedes

**Frank-N-Furter**

Sam said he had never seen "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" before.

He lied.

Ever since he was a little kid, his parents would pop in their copy of the DVD the night before Halloween, and they'd sit down and watch it together. For most of the movie, Sam usually experienced a sense of confusion – he literally had no idea in hell as to what was going on. But as Sam got older, he started to understand more and more of the plot.

But as he aged, one thing _never _changed: His reaction to Tim Curry dressed in drag.

The glee club was yet again having a late night rehearsal for their production of Rocky Horror. Sam was wearing his teeny gold shorts – _still worried about popping some nuttage at some point _– and everyone else was wearing their costumes as well.

It wasn't a dress rehearsal, but everyone really seemed to be getting into it.

Especially Mercedes.

And Sam had noticed. JEBUS, had he noticed her more than he had ever noticed anyone in his entire life.

As rehearsal wrapped, Sam uncomfortably squirmed in his seat – suddenly thankful for the mercifully tight constraint of the gold shorts.

Sam was the last to walk out of the auditorium and to the guys' dressing room, and he changed in the privacy of one of the bathroom stalls.

Walking out of the school, Sam shook his unruly mop of hair to the right and out of his eyes. He saw Mercedes up ahead waving goodbye to Tina, Mike, and Artie. He quickly made up his mind.

Running up to Mercedes as she opened her car door, he said, "Hi Mercedes."

"Hi Sam," Mercedes replied with laughter in her voice.

"So I was wondering…" He trailed off, suddenly nervous. Mercedes was a diva, and that intimidated Sam.

"Yes?" she drawled the word out, waiting for his response with a cocked eyebrow and a diva-tilt to her hip.

"I was wondering if you'd maybe like to go out with me some time?" Sam asked, rushing the words out across his lips before he had time to swallow them whole.

Mercedes eyebrows shot skyward before she cocked her head and asked, "What, see something hot and sexy and dipped in chocolate up there on stage tonight that you just couldn't get enough of?"

Sam's grin engulfed his entire face. "You have no idea, Mercedes." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek before walking backwards and away from the stunned girl. "_No idea_."

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret<strong>**: **_**"Dr. Frank-N-Furter has always turned me on."**_

* * *

><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	5. The Cop

**Characters**: Quinn, Puck, and Judy Fabray with some Mercedes, Sam, and Rachel for good measure

**The Cop**

The flashing blue of the police car's lights filled Quinn's rearview mirror.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her mother's presence next to her in the passenger seat.

"Quinn! Watch your language," Judy chastised her daughter lightly. She giggled though, and the chastisement was lost on Quinn. Her mother had consumed more than her fair share of wine earlier that afternoon at lunch. Quinn just rolled her eyes as she pulled onto the shoulder of the road, parked her car, and waited for the law enforcement officer to approach her vehicle.

Once the officer had finished checking to make sure the car Quinn was driving had not, in fact, been stolen – or whatever the hell it is they do that takes them so long – he approached Quinn's window and tapped lightly on it. Quinn closed her eyes a few seconds longer than the standard blink before rolling down the window.

"License and registration, please," the man calmly said.

Quinn's eyes suddenly went as round as saucers at the sound of his voice, but she didn't look up at him. She simply reached over and grabbed her license from her mom's outstretched, unsteady hand and her registration from the dash before sticking them out the window in the general direction of his face.

"Do you realize how fast you were going, ma'am?" he questioned. Quinn saw him look at her registration out of the corner of her eye. She shook her head in response, still refusing to speak, as he flipped the registration over and looked at her driver's license.

Even in her peripherals, she saw the light bulb flip on in the cop's eyes.

"Quinn?" he asked, pulling his sunglasses off of his face and tucking them into his shirt pocket. He leaned down against the edge of the car and looked her directly in the face. "How are you doing? It's been a while!"

Now she had no option but to acknowledge that she very much knewthis man.

"Quinn, honey?" Judy mimicked. "Do you know this kind officer?"

Quinn nodded, but the cop answered for her anyway. He stuck his hand in the car in front of Quinn's face, holding it out for Judy to shake. "Hello, you must be Mrs. Fabray. My name is Noah, Noah Puckerman. If I wasn't in this uniform, I'd let you call me 'Puck', but you know how it is."

As Judy became completely enamored by Puck's charm, Quinn allowed herself to take in the features of his smiling face…

* * *

><p><em>Quinn had already graduated college, but a lot of her friends hadn't yet. So that Saturday night, she found herself at a toga party just off campus with some of her Super Senior friends.<em>

"_Quinn!" Mercedes had called out as she reached Quinn in the crowd, grabbed her hand, and began pulling her through the masses. "You just __**have**__ to meet Sam's friend."_

"_Is he a college guy?" Quinn asked. It was her new criterion – she wasn't in college anymore, so she was done dating guys who were still pursuing higher education._

"_No, he works. He's in security or something, I can't remember," Mercedes answered, indicating her mostly-empty cup of whatever alcoholic beverage she had been consuming all night._

_Quinn nodded and allowed herself to be placed in front of Sam's friend. Introductions were made, and Quinn suppressed an eye roll when she found out that this guy went by the name 'Puck'._

_They had been talking for maybe fifteen minutes – during which most of Puck's time was preoccupied with flexing his muscles and claiming that togas were 'awesome' – when Quinn saw her across the room._

_A beautiful, tan-skinned young woman whose toga was perfectly showing off ample amounts of skin threw her head back in laughter. Quinn took a sip of her wine cooler as she imagined licking her way across those shoulders and up the smooth, exposed skin of her neck –_

_But then Quinn stopped herself. Because she just didn't __**have**__ thoughts like that. Not about anyone, let alone another girl._

_When Puck asked her if she wanted to go upstairs, she said yes. But she kept her eyes on the girl with the dark skin and the brunette locks and the dazzling smile as her feet automatically carried her up the stairs and towards whichever bedroom Puck had laid claim to for the next however-long._

_When he laid her on the bed and started kissing her and moving down her body, she found herself imagining that his dark hair was longer, that his tan arms were more slender and soft, that his chest was less muscled and more voluptuous…_

* * *

><p>As Puck got back in his cruiser – after chatting with Judy for a few minutes and simply telling Quinn to watch her speed – Judy again asked Quinn how she knew him.<p>

"We went to school together," Quinn supplied. She followed her response up with an increase in volume of the radio dial, effectively ending the conversation.

'_We went to school together'_, Quinn had said. But she had lied. She had lied because _'we slept together one night when I was tipsy on wine coolers and because he kinda sorta resembled a girl who I may have just fallen in love with at first sight_' just didn't sound like the kind of thing a mom would want to hear.

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret<strong>**: **_**"I lied to my mom about how I knew the cop."**_

* * *

><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	6. Rice

**Characters: **Tina and Mike

**Rice**

"Welcome to Asian couples' therapy," the decidedly-_not_ Asian therapist said.

Tina frowned and blinked once or twice but didn't reply, choosing instead to stare blankly forward.

"So tell me why you two are here."

Mike spoke up first. "I love Tina, I really do. But she's completely stopped embracing her Asian heritage!"

"How so?" the therapist replied, nonchalantly scribbling something on the notepad in his lap. Tina found herself leaning forward on the squeaky leather couch to try and catch a glance. He subtly raised it up a few inches higher so she couldn't see anything. She lifted her eyes to his face and squinted dangerously in his direction.

"I can't… I can't even bring myself to say it out loud," Mike admitted, shaking his head and looking down at his hands where they lay clenched together in his lap.

"You should feel free to say anything. This is a _safe zone_." The man – Mr. Not-Asian-Asian-Couples-Therapist – said as he gestured with his free hand in a circle around the air in Mike and Tina's general direction. Tina exhaled loudly through her nose, crossing her arms.

"We went out for dinner with my mom the other night, and Tina…" Mike trailed off. His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly.

"…Yes?" the therapist prodded.

"Tina…wouldn't… She wouldn't…"

Tina sighed. "Just spit it out already, Mike."

He hesitantly glanced at his girlfriend with shifty eyes before locking eyes with Mr. Safe-Zone before leaning forward and _whispering_ the words, "_She wouldn't eat her rice_."

Tina continued to sit very still and straight in her seat with a frown on her face and with her eyes glaring sharply in the therapist's direction. And she found her irritation inexplicably growing as his jaw literally dropped.

"She wouldn't… She wouldn't _eat her rice?_" he questioned.

Mike shook his head back and forth at a rapid pace.

"But… But why would she exhibit such behavior?" Mr. Getting-On-Tina's-Nerves-Now asked with a head tilt and arched eyebrows. He leaned forward in his seat, and Tina got a glance of his notepad – on which he had drawn a very detailed cartoon cat.

This was when she lost it.

Standing abruptly and waving her arms around in circles, Tina yelled, "I didn't eat the rice because I am _sick _of eating rice! I refuse to eat another grain of rice so long as I live! I may be a strong, proud Asian woman, but I am _so much more_ than that! And _you_," she said, shoving her finger in Mr. Cartoonist's face, "are the biggest _joke_ of a therapist I have ever heard of in my life!" She turned on her heel and marched towards the door, flinging it open. Before she stepped outside, she turned back towards the two guys in the room – who were looking at her as if she had three heads – and said, "And my seven-year old sister could draw a better cartoon with her hands tied behind her back!"

She slammed the door, and Mike's eyes immediately snapped back to Mr. Easy-to-Insult. The therapist cleared his throat. "Uhh… Same time next week?"

Mike's eyes widened. "No," he said. "I don't think that'll be happening."

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret<strong>**: **_**"Even though I'm Asian, I'm **__**sick**__** of RICE!"**_

* * *

><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	7. United Parcel Service

**Characters: **Rachel and Quinn

**United Parcel Service**

It was 1:27pm. Rachel had approximately three minutes.

She opened her compact mirror and checked her makeup, brushing her bangs first to the left and then to the right before finally allowing them to settle somewhere in the middle. She popped a piece of minty fresh gum in her mouth and chewed rapidly. She straightened her shirt collar and sleeves and looked out the window.

The UPS truck rolled to a stop in front of the building, and out stepped the beautiful brown-uniform clad woman Rachel had the great pleasure of seeing at 1:30 every afternoon for the past year and a half.

Rachel quickly placed her gum in the trash can before hopping up and moving quickly from behind her desk and to the front door, which she quickly opened. She stood in front of the door, smiling adorably as the blonde UPS delivery woman carried a stack of three boxes inside.

"Hi, Miss Berry," she said with a dazzlingly-white smile as she passed the receptionist.

Rachel followed her inside, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. "Hello."

The woman placed the packages on the counter and pulled out her tablet for Rachel to sign. As Rachel did so, she contemplated – as always – whether or not to say something _first_. Whether or not to proposition the other woman about her life. Whether or not to compliment her on her ability to pull off the color brown with such ease. Whether or not to proposition her for a date or even just drinks after work. Whether or not to ask her what her name was…

"I love that shirt," The woman said as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her voice as sweet and sincere as the day before and the day before that. "Is it new?"

Rachel smiled brightly as she looked up after signing her name. "It is!" she replied. "Thank you so much for noticing."

The blonde grinned and winked before taking the tablet from Rachel's outstretched hands and backing up slowly towards the door. "I hope you have a wonderful day, Rachel. I'll see you tomorrow!"

Rachel waved, and then her 1:30pm date was gone.

Oh well. Tomorrow was always another day.

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret<strong>**: **_**"I open the door for you everyday. Most days, you are the only one who notices what I am wearing or asks about my day. I wish I knew you better. I wish I knew your name. -22314"**_

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><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	8. Unrequited Birthday Wishes

**Characters: **Quinn and Rachel

**Unrequited Birthday Wishes  
><strong>

Quinn sat down on her couch with her legs crossed underneath her. A steaming cup of hot chocolate was warming the palms of her hands. She blew on the surface a couple of times before reaching for the remote control.

It was one week until Christmas.

Flipping through the channels, Quinn finally found the station she was looking for. This channel always had a Christmas Special around this time. She had learned about a week prior that this year's charity for the special was one that Rachel Berry eagerly supported. In fact, Rachel would be a special guest for the event. So Quinn had set it to record.

But of course, she would watch it live anyway.

The program was starting just as Quinn lowered the remote to the cushion next to her. She took a sip of her hot chocolate as Rachel began to sing a stunning rendition of a Christmas favorite. Quinn's breath caught in her throat and she marveled at the woman's grace and poise and beauty on the stage, backed by a full orchestra and dressed in a dazzling midnight blue gown.

She was magnificent.

The program continued, and Rachel spoke vociferously about her charity, urging people to donate and surprising even the host by promising to match every single penny donated by the public.

Not once did Rachel mention that today was her birthday.

When the two-hour special finished, Quinn paused the image on the screen. Rachel Berry, smiling beautifully into the camera. Rachel Berry, chocolate eyes shining magically through the airwaves. Rachel Berry, in Quinn's living room.

This was probably the closest Quinn would ever be to Rachel again in her life.

Saving the show, Quinn turned off her television and headed into her bedroom. She curled up under her covers and hugged a pillow tightly to her chest as she tried not to imagine the extravagant celebration Rachel would most assuredly be having after leaving the studio.

"Happy birthday, Rachel," Quinn muttered just before she fell asleep with a sad smile on her face at the thought of her first and last unrequited love affair.

* * *

><p>Halfway across the country in a lovely New York City loft, Rachel Berry opened her apartment door and dropped her heels next to the kitchen counter. She changed into comfortable, worn sweats and curled up on her couch with Ben and Jerry and her copy of <em>Funny Lady<em> in the DVD player – because she watched _Funny Girl_ at least once a month and its sequel deserved a special moment at least once a year as well.

Rachel thought, '_Happy birthday to me_', as the opening credits began to roll and she ate her first bite of ice cream. She had turned down invitations for birthday celebrations, opting instead to spend her birthday alone – as she always did.

And there was a part of Rachel – despite her years of success and her fame and her general sense of happiness – that chose this day each year to just _be_. To be alone. To think about her past. To contemplate her future. It was a day where Rachel could cry if she wanted to because it was her birthday, dammit. She could be sad if she wanted. And she normally cried, because she _did_ allow herself to be sad on this day.

She was sad because she was still mourning the loss of a friendship that, Rachel felt, could have been epic.

But she and Quinn had never really been able to cross that line that separated acquaintances from _friends_, and whatever could've or would've or should've _been_ between the two girls simply never came to fruition.

Maybe, somewhere – wherever it was that Quinn found herself – she knew that Rachel was thinking of her. And maybe – just maybe – Quinn was thinking of Rachel, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret<strong>**: **_**"I still remember your birthday each year even if you don't remember me."**_

* * *

><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	9. You're Too Late

**Characters: ** Quinn, Rachel, Finn, and others

**You're Too Late**

As you walk down the aisle towards your beautiful bride to be, your heart beats almost painfully against your ribcage. She looks stunning in her cream-colored wedding dress that you had specially made for the occasion. Her short blonde hair is styled elegantly, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her. She's beautiful _every _day. It wouldn't be an uncommon occurrence for her looks to stop traffic. But today?

Today, your fiancée could stop _hearts_.

Quinn sees you round the corner, one of your dads at each of your elbows. The smile that spreads across her face causes every emotion you've ever experienced in your life to crash down around you in one fell swoop. You're sure you're blushing through the light makeup you're wearing, but you don't care. It feels right to blush – it feels right to be _happy_ and _in love_.

You bite your lip as you duck your head slightly, but Santana's voice is suddenly in your mind. _"Don't ruin the lip gloss, Berry!"_ So you stop.

You had always wanted an outdoor wedding. An outdoor wedding required that _everything _be perfect – the location, the type of grass, humidity, the weather (before and, of course, during). For an outdoor wedding to be _perfect_, everything had to coincide _just so_. And ever since you were a little girl, you believed that nothing in the world could ruin your wedding day – _especially _not a trifling detail like the _weather_. You had imaged it for so long – the dress, the guests, the flowers, the setting, the reception, the cake – and now, it was finally coming to fruition. Though for the past few years, the only detail that had _really_ changed was the inclusion of another bride on top of the cake next to your own figure instead of a groom.

Everyone gathered in front of you stands as the appropriate music begins to play. You take a step forward, lovingly sandwiched between your smiling fathers (with one crying unabashedly into his handkerchief). Your progress down the aisle is almost torturously slow. But still, a part of you relishes the slowness.

Because you've already scanned the faces around you, and you don't see Finn anywhere in sight.

He was your first love. And it may have been more of a school girl crush than anything, but in your heart and mind, you really do think it was love. And he rejected you, time and time again. You were ambitious, and you had – at one point – tried to make _him_ as important as your other dreams. It was only later in life – when you had already fulfilled most of those dreams – that you thought back on those high school years of pining after Finn with something akin to annoyance or exasperation or just plain silliness. Because one day, Quinn had stumbled back into your life. And you finally understood what it was that Finn – and most of the other male population of McKinley High – had found desirable in her.

You're standing in front of her now. Your dads have each kissed her on the cheek, passing your hands off to her. Her hazel eyes shine brightly out at you, and you can't breathe.

_Breathe,_ she mouths to you.

This is true love.

You had walked into that café in New York City on one of your rare days-off. You had expected to drink a delicious cup of your favorite coffee. You had expected to sit back in one of their sinfully-comfortable chairs. You had expected to waste your day in the most amazing of ways. What you had _not_ expected was for an apparent regular to sit herself down on a stool onstage with a guitar and start singing covers. Covers of love songs. And you had _not _expected your mind to screech to a standstill as you stared blankly down at the page in front of you, refusing momentarily to _move_ let alone look up. And when you finally did look up, you had most certainly _not_ expected to see Quinn Fabray, strumming her guitar and so in tune with the soft melody flowing from her lips that she didn't even notice you watching. Because now, you were most _definitely_ watching. You couldn't look away. And you approached her when she was done with her set. Your hands had reached out of their own volition, and you had been _so_ surprised when her fingertips had met yours halfway.

The rest, as they say, was history.

The wedding officiator droned on and on. Quinn repeated her vows. You repeated your vows. And suddenly, the moment you had been waiting for arrived.

"If there is anyone here today," he said, "who opposes the marriage between these two women, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Her eyes are swimming with tears. Happy tears. You think yours are too, but you've been _feeling_ so much for the past five ten fifteen twenty or however many long minutes that you're starting to not feel anything at all besides the caress of her fingers against yours. You can't break your eyes from hers, but part of you wants to – part of you wants to turn and look; part of you wants to see if he's there to object, to stop the marriage, to fight for you.

"_Finn never knew what he had. He never deserved you. I'm so sorry that I went about protecting you completely the wrong way in high school, Rachel."_

When no one objects, you're announced as an official married couple. Something inside of you swells up, and you realize that _this is perfect._ Standing in front of you, your wife. Standing all around you, your friends and family and people who love you. Waiting after today, the rest of your amazing life with this stunningly perfect girl.

You had wanted Finn to show up. You had wanted him to object. You had wanted to say, _"Finn!"_ You had wanted to keep Quinn's hands laced with your own as you turned your shoulders to him and said, _"You're too late."_ That's all. _"You're too late,"_ is all you would have said before giving Quinn the greatest kiss of her _life._

But none of that happens here in the present. Except the epic kiss, of course. And somehow, you know – _this _was how things were meant to turn out. Finn was just a boy from your past. But Quinn?

Quinn is your future.

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret: <strong>_**"I fantasize about him showing up to stop my wedding. Just so I can say "You're too late."**_

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><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	10. Wandering Thoughts in Church

**Characters: **Quinn, Rachel, and others  
><strong>Rating: <strong>probably a little higher for this chapter, maybe an M because Quinn thinks about sex a lot

**Wandering Thoughts in Church**

The pew was hard against Quinn's ass. The pastor was droning on and on, and she had zoned out long ago.

…_attractive person in the seat next to you on the plane nonchalantly follows you to the bathroom…_

Every Sunday for the past… Well, since she was old enough to sit up on her own, Quinn had been coming to the United Methodist Church of Lima. She would follow her dad as he made his way to the third row of pews, shaking hands as they moved through the relatively crowded area. Her mom – with her big frigging hat – would join them a few minutes before service started, always miraculously wrapping up the gossip just in time.

…_flight attendant nonchalantly follows you to the bathroom…_

Quinn was eighteen now. She was leaving Lima soon. She had been accepted to New York University, and she couldn't wait to get the hell out.

…_you partake in a moonlight romp on the second green with the sexy caddy…_

Quinn had _wanted_ to follow Santana and Brittany to Los Angeles, but she hadn't gotten in there. Instead, she was going to be going to the City practically alone.

…_hot tub, water bubbling smooth around your legs as you wrap them around your lover…_

Their last glee club meeting _ever_ had been last Thursday. The remaining original members of New Directions went around in a circle announcing their future plans. Quinn had kept mostly to herself, listening intently while keeping her eyes on her lap.

…_rolling blackouts, and the insanely hot woman in a power suit sharing the elevator with you unbuttons several buttons to keep herself from freaking out as the elevator stalls; naturally, you help her stay calm…_

Quinn had managed to absorb most of the detail from her fellow glee club members without showing much interest. But then the last – and really, weren't they _always _saving the best for last? – member announced that she had _finally_ made a decision about schools. Rachel had stood up and addressed her friends – yes, they were friends at this point – saying, "While I was initially disappointed that I was not accepted at Juilliard, and while the decision between music and drama programs at UCLA and NYU was _indescribably difficult_, I have in fact chosen… To attend NYU!"

…_sneaking out of your room in the middle of the night, backseat of her secret lover's car…_

Momentarily, it seemed, Quinn's world had come to a complete halt. She caught Santana's eye, and subtly shook her head. It didn't matter. They would be living in the same city. They would be going to the same university. All of that, Quinn had been perfectly capable of handling.

…_driving down the highway at eighty miles an hour with her hand down your shorts…_

But what Quinn could _not _handle was exactly what was waiting for her when she got home from glee rehearsal later that evening. An envelope. From NYU. With her housing assignment.

…_you discreetly lower yourself to your knees as the movie continues to play on the big screen behind you; the back row is always the best, and her skirts make for easy access…_

Quinn had almost screamed when she read her housing assignment. _Rachel Berry_, it read. And Quinn had initially been disgusted. Until, of course, she just wasn't disgusted anymore. Which had taken a surprisingly short time.

…_you walk out of the water, the waves grabbing at your ankles; she's sprawled out on her beach chair, and you waste no time in dropping down between her knees…_

Quinn hadn't ever really _hated_ Rachel. Hate was a strong word that Quinn reserved specially for her father. No, Quinn didn't hate Rachel, but she had resented her for a long time. Quinn had been jealous because she _knew_ Rachel would get out of Lima. For Quinn herself, she hadn't been so sure. But ever since she aced her SAT, wrote a bangin' admissions essay, got killer letters of recommendation from Schue and Sue, and mailed her admissions packet, Quinn had known that she was getting out of Lima, too. So there was no longer a reason to be jealous of Rachel Berry.

…_in the office bathroom between conference calls, she pushes you up against the wall and roughly yanks down your zipper…_

And since Quinn had stopped resenting Rachel, she had finally begun to truly _appreciate_ Rachel. Rachel's offers of friendship over the years, Rachel's voice, Rachel's smile, Rachel's legs.

…_in the bathroom of the club, with the bass beat pounding through your limbs, you pound into her; she screams in ecstasy, but the music swallows it whole…_

So trepidation turned into anticipation. Quinn would know someone in New York, and she would have a genuinely nice person for a roommate. But there was part of Quinn that couldn't help but imagine doing not-so-nice things to Rachel Berry, things that she probably shouldn't be thinking about while in church.

…_you follow her off the ice; she shoulder checked you during the game, and you're livid; as soon as you have time to rip her pads and your pads off, you'll show her what's acceptable and what isn't…_

The congregation around her stands for the final prayer. Quinn robotically follows along. Everyone is dismissed. Quinn's parents smile and shake hands with everyone they know. The smile on her own face is stiff and fake, but no one really cares. They all just want to go eat lunch.

As Quinn walks into the bright sunlight outside of the church, she drops her sunglasses onto her face and wonders when her church-time erotica plots began involving herself and another woman…

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><p><strong>Postsecret: <strong>_**"I think about plots for erotica novels while sitting in the pews at church."**_

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><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com


	11. Faith and Legs

**Characters: ** Rachel and Quinn

**Faith and Legs**

Over the course of the past year, Rachel Berry had learned a lot of things about herself.

_She could literally sing __**anything**__ that Mr. Schue or any other glee club member challenged her to sing._

_Her dancing was pretty damn fly for a white chick - oftentimes seen as simultaneously adorkable and sexy._

_The chasing of Finn was getting indescribably boring._

_Having two gay dads didn't necessarily mean that she would ever learn how to properly sew._

_She wanted out of Lima, Ohio, and she would do whatever it took to make her dreams come true._

And... Last, but certainly not least...

_Rachel had learned that she was incredibly jealous of Quinn Fabray._

Mercedes was in front of the glee kids - singing a song about Jesus or faith or something - and Quinn was harmonizing with her beautifully in the background. The blonde had given into Coach Sylvester yet again, so she was sporting a Cheerio uniform. And there was something about that combination - the uniform and the music - that had Rachel's mind screeching to a pitiful, exhausted halt. Because she was finally really _getting it_. Rachel wasn't just _jealous_ of Quinn Fabray, Rachel kind of sort of really _wanted_ Quinn Fabray.

And with just a few months left of high school stretching out in front of her, this thought worried Rachel.

The song concluded, and the glee kids clapped and cheered their approval to the duo in front of them. And while Mercedes took her bows and hungrily consumed all applause and praise that was directed her way, Rachel couldn't help but notice _Quinn _instead. She was standing with one hand on the piano as her other hand moved upwards, clutching lightly at the golden cross Rachel knew hung delicately around her neck. Rachel watched as she fingered the metal between the tips of her long, slender digits. Rachel's mind began to wander...

"Great job, Mercedes, Quinn. That song choice was phenomenal!" Mr. Schuester's praises broke Rachel out of her Quinn stupor.

Mercedes replied, "Thanks, Mr. Schue."

Quinn just nodded, and as the kids began to fall into the rhythm of deciding who would perform next, she slipped out of the choir room door.

Rachel hesitated for exactly zero seconds before standing and following her.

Stepping out into the hallway, Rachel's head swiveled on her shoulders, frantically searching for the blonde figure in the red and white uniform. Seeing her nowhere, Rachel allowed her thoughts to stop swirling tempestuously in her head.

Where would Quinn go?

Rachel's feet began carrying her across the school, down several deserted corridors and to the alcove near the chemistry labs where she had followed Quinn two years previous. And there, on the same bench and wearing the same heartbreaking expression, sat Quinn.

"Hi," Rachel said softly as she approached, slowing to a walk from the not-quite-sprint she had taken to get there as quickly as possible.

Quinn licked her bottom lip, eyes still positioned on the tile in front of her feet. "Hi," she responded.

Sitting next to the other girl, Rachel tucked her skirt self-consciously under her thighs. There was something about Quinn's broodiness that always made every action Rachel took in her presence feel exaggerated and unnecessary.

"The song was beautiful."

Quinn's head nodded once. "Yeah, Mercedes is great."

"So are you, Quinn."

"I'm nothing special." The way she said it, Rachel believed that Quinn believed it.

"Quinn," Rachel began, trying to keep her tone as delicate and sincere as possible - even though she really just wanted to shake the girl. "You're _extraordinary_."

Upon the utterance of Rachel's statement, Quinn's head swiveled in her direction. "I'm not the extraordinary one sitting on this bench, Rachel."

Rachel tried not to let the compliment go to her head. But there was something about the simplicity of the statement that had Rachel's mind and heart racing more frantically than anything Finn or Puck or Jesse had ever said to her before. "Quinn..."

"I didn't get the scholarships I needed to be able to follow Brittany and Santana to school in New York," Quinn breathed out hurriedly, interrupting whatever Rachel had been planning on saying to try and make her feel better.

"Which school?" Rachel asked gently.

"New York University or Columbia... I guess it's less difficult to actually get in than it is to pay for the education."

Rachel nodded her head, already fully aware of the burden the cost her Juilliard education was going to put on her family. "There's always financial aid," she offered. "Student loans, grants, fellowships."

Quinn nodded solemnly. "I want to go. I want to get out of here."

"Then you will," Rachel hastened to interrupt. "You'll get out, Quinn. You can finally put that ridiculous notion of real estate and a mediocre life out of your head."

They were silent for a while. Rachel looked down at her lap as her hands gripped the bench to either side of her thighs. They were making it out. They weren't making it out _together_, necessarily. But they were making it out. And whether or not Brittany, Santana, and Quinn had been or ever would be Rachel's _friends_, they would be living in the same city. Maybe there was some kind of potential for...for _something_.

"I've always been jealous of your faith in God," Rachel whispered the words, thinking back to the song Quinn had helped perform - how beautiful and at peace she had seemed as the lyrics flowed smoothly from her lips.

Quinn tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in Rachel's direction. "Really?"

Rachel looked up, nodding and grinning almost shyly. "Yeah," she replied. "And your legs."

When Quinn laughed, something inside of Rachel clicked. And she knew that whatever the future held, it would all be just fine.

* * *

><p><strong>Postsecret: <strong>_**"I was always jealous of your faith in God... & your amazing legs."**_

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><p><strong>See this Postsecret at: <strong>your-kat (dot) livejournal (dot) com

**Or here, since LJ is being ridiculous right now: **http :/ / i830 . photobucket . com /albums/zz226/molly_katheryn/faithinlegs .jpg - (just remove the excess spaces)


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